


Least Among Us

by Lady Adain (pocketTherapist)



Series: Consortverse [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aizen Sosuke Being a Bastard, All UraIchi is Consensual, Brief but Graphic, Crucifixion, First Part in a Series, M/M, Mindfuck, NonCon is Not Main Pairing, Past Rape/Non-con, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Technically a Fix-It, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 17:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17248217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketTherapist/pseuds/Lady%20Adain
Summary: Ichigo should be focusing on the table talk, on the flow of conversation around him, on the political currents he hates to navigate but must anyway. The future of his nation may well depend on it, and yet.He can’t help but focus on the slave kneeling at Aizen’s feet.





	Least Among Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is the badly-packaged and rushed First Installment of the Consortverse Series. 
> 
> As always, blame Starsilver.

Ichigo should be focusing on the table talk, on the flow of conversation around him, on the political currents he  _ hates _ to navigate but must anyway. The future of his nation may well depend on it, and yet.

 

He can’t help but focus on the slave kneeling at Aizen’s feet. The other king is welcome to his retinue and his own ways, of course, but it’s taking everything Ichigo has not to leap out of his seat and bodily tackle Aizen. The slave has been present the entire week, throughout all the negotiations and banquets and balls, but that’s not the problem. It’s the way Aizen treats him. Ichigo knows slaves are legal in Aizen’s kingdom, if not Karakura, but watching the ruler torment this human being is pushing Ichigo’s self-control to its very limits. 

 

Like now, for instance. The slave’s hands are cuffed behind him, the extravagant collar and leash pulled forward and tied to the arm of the chair, forcing him to strain forward, baring his throat. Aizen’s hand, the one not occupied with his fork, is ostensibly petting his hair, but Ichigo can see the cruel tugging from here, even if the slave doesn’t react. Every now and then, Aizen leans down to whisper to him, seemingly without expecting any response. 

 

And it just  _ continues _ . 

 

By the time Aizen has three fingers hooked on the inside of the slave’s mouth under the guise of hand-feeding him, Ichigo is seriously reconsidering the ramifications of simply slaughtering the man at the dining table. He could do it, probably. But he’d never be able to justify sending his country to war simply for the sake of one man, however much it chafes at him. Once, as a prince, he might have, but Ichigo has more people to protect these days, and that knowledge alone is what keeps him in his seat. 

 

It’s still not easy, remaining impassive throughout every increasingly creative thing Aizen does to try to elicit a flinch or noise of pain throughout the meal. By the time the final course has been served and Aizen hauls the slave forward by the collar, half-choking him, to have him lick Aizen’s already spotless plate clean off of the floor, Ichigo is...twitching. 

 

He's not lucky enough for Aizen not to have noticed. The man smirks at him as they all rise, dragging his slave with him by a finger casually hooked in his collar. 

 

“I noticed your eyes upon us, your majesty.  Did you see something you liked, maybe?”

 

Ichigo flushes, unable to stop the instinctive reaction. At least Aizen has mistaken his disgust for interest. Before he has to actually come up with a response, though, Aizen continues. 

 

“It truly is a shame slavery is outlawed in your country, your majesty. I find that crime rates drop appreciably when criminals know what fate may await them. Furthermore, once properly trained, even the worst of scum can be useful.” 

He raises the leash dangling between his fingers and offers it to Ichigo with a flourish. 

 

“For you, your majesty, as a token of the appreciation between our nations. This one’s been well trained, so you shouldn’t have to worry. It’ll do anything you tell it to. I find that this one in particular has quite the soft mouth. Do enjoy.”

 

And then Aizen is whirling off, leaving Ichigo holding a leash in his hands and a slave collapsed into a kneel at his feet. 

 

...Ichigo was going to  _ kill _ someone. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

His new master is furious. 

 

Kisuke can’t quite repress the tremble that shakes him at the thought, and he ducks his head a little further. He's good at reading people, he has to be, his life has always depended on it, and unlike Aizen, Kisuke knows that the other king had been watching them with disgust. Oh, there was interest there, yes, but also revulsion. 

 

Is it because he's male? Kisuke knows some cultures disapprove of males lying with each other. Or perhaps it was just because it was  _ Kisuke _ , instead. He's not pretty by any stretch of the imagination; Aizen had called him well trained but he can't ever seem to manage to avoid punishment; perhaps this young king had simply looked at him with those piercing eyes and _ known _ how worthless Kisuke was, known the insult offered him by Aizen. 

 

Perhaps his new master will be merciful and simply have him killed. 

 

Kisuke does not think he will be that lucky. 

 

It's possible he will be able to win some small amount of favor, though, if the man will try him before having him offered to the barracks or something. 

 

He's just terrified at what winning that favor might require. 

 

He snaps back to himself at a tug on his leash, and he rises as gracefully as he can manage with his hands restrained behind him. The king is refusing to even look at him, which is a bad sign. On the other hand, he hasn't yet passed Kisuke off to one of the hovering attendants flitting about the edges of his vision. 

 

Hopefully his master just doesn't want to seem as if he's spurning his gift. Aizen quite liked to hold sessions with slaves that had fallen out of favor, though, and Kisuke knows that this king also has quite a dark side. 

 

Maybe if Kisuke begs prettily enough, his master will just use his mouth instead of getting creative tonight? Humiliation always seemed to soften Aizen nicely. 

 

He tries to still the trembling in his limbs as he trots after the king, whose long strides lead them to the private quarters. He tells himself it  _ cannot _ be any worse than with Aizen. It can’t be. 

 

He's never been able to lie to himself. 

 

The king stops outside a door that looks no different from any of the others. 

 

It's completely barren inside, and Kisuke chides himself for thinking the king would take him to his private chambers so soon. That will be something Kisuke will have to  _ earn _ . 

 

He sinks to his knees with as much grace as his exhausted form can manage, attempting an appealing look from under his eyelashes. He's not been given permission to speak yet, so he nuzzles forward against the king's thigh.

 

Instead of pushing forward in tacit permission, though, the king jerks away from him, shoving harshly at his head. Kisuke is caught off balance, and falls to the ground. He lies there for a moment, turning his face into the deep rug, trying to conquer his terror. 

 

The king is too disgusted by him to even use his mouth. 

 

If he's not to be used for _ that _ , there's only one thing he's good for, and that’s  _ pain _ . A long, low whine is pulled from him without his consent, and he cautiously raises himself back to his knees, lowering his head to the king’s feet. It’s the only form of begging he’s been allowed in a very long time. 

 

There's a long moment of absolute silence, and then a quiet sigh. The leash tightens again, and he rises at its command. 

 

The king takes him back out of the room without another word, leading him deeper into the hallways, through an ornate set of doors. These are the Royal Suites, then. 

 

Kisuke is led through to the bedroom and spends a moment looking around. It's surprisingly normal, for a monarch--certainly more reminiscent of an average person than Yoruichi's lavish rooms, or god forbid, Aizen's. He doesn't see any of the equipment Aizen favored for his… companions, but perhaps this ruler will simply improvise. He shudders and shuts down the thought hard. 

 

The king stops, dropping the lead, and Kisuke stands for a moment, unsure of what he's supposed to be doing. His master crosses around behind him, and he flinches involuntarily, dropping his head. Instead of a strike or rough grasp, though, he feels gentle hands unlinking his cuffs from each other, freeing his hands. 

 

By the time Kisuke gathers himself enough to turn around and kneel to show his appreciation properly, the king has disappeared, leaving the rooms entirely. Kisuke folds himself down to wait, resting his hands neatly on his thighs. He can do this, he can endure whatever this king throws at him. Perhaps he can earn enough favor not to be shared around or discarded, even.  

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Kisuke is on his knees at the foot of the bed, hands tucked carefully behind his back, head bowed properly, waiting. He wants--he wants to be  _ good _ , wants to prove his worth, that he  _ can _ be useful. He lifts his head to attention when the king walks in, straightening his shoulders, only to quail almost immediately. The king--Ichigo, his name is Ichigo-- looks… perturbed, which is not an unusual reaction to Aizen, and means that the king must have had another meeting with the other monarch. It’s the small bag in his hand that holds his attention, though. Ichigo crosses over to sit on the bed, dumping out a myriad of small crystals. Kisuke’s stomach drops. He knows what those are. 

 

Ichigo reaches out for the one closest to him. As soon as his fingertips brush it, light flares around the room, the panels of the hexagonal crystal expanding and joining to create a three-dimensional viewing experience. The king jerks back, startled, but Kisuke remains frozen in utter terror as the picture forms. 

 

It's Kisuke, not long after he was taken, chained wrists hanging from the hook in the ceiling, head lowered, panting with exhaustion and pain. And it's Aizen, pacing slowly around his still form, the curled whip in his hand dripping onto the stone floor. 

 

It's the first time Kisuke broke. 

 

The words ring in his memory, clear as day, even as the Aizen on-screen speaks. 

 

“So? Are you ready to stop? It’s such a little thing I’m asking. You can make it end right now.”

 

He steps closer to Kisuke’s motionless form, uses the butt of the whip to tip Kisuke’s face up to see it. 

 

Kisuke-on-screen flinches, drops his eyes. 

 

Aizen smiles.

 

With a wave of his hand, the hook releases him, and Kisuke drops to his knees, less of a conscious motion and more of a collapse. There’s a moment of silence, broken only by Kisuke’s harsh breaths, and then Aizen taps his foot impatiently.

 

“Well? I’m not going to wait forever.”

 

Kisuke grabs another breath and pushes up to his hands and knees. Slowly, agonizingly, he crawls over to Aizen’s feet and bends himself forward to press a tentative kiss to the tip of the bloodstained shoe. 

 

Aizen chuckles, low and approving, and reaches down. Kisuke flinches again, but Aizen only ruffles his hair--gently, so gently, and Kisuke knows now that it was his reward for complying, but the tenderness hurts almost as much as the pain. 

 

“Good boy. I think that’s enough for today, don’t you?”

 

It’s clearly rhetorical, but Kisuke, in the mindset he was in, was too grateful to do anything but press another kiss to his captor’s boot. 

 

Aizen leaves without a fuss, leaving Kisuke to collapse to the floor in the barren cell as the door slams behind him. 

 

The crystal fades to black and returns to its inactive form, and Ichigo drops it like it’s been set afire in his hand. 

 

Slowly, he turns to look at Kisuke, his expression utterly blank. 

 

Kisuke  _ can’t breathe _ . This, his one chance to do better,  _ be _ better, is being ripped away before his eyes. Now his master will see how broken and useless he is. Not fit for a king, certainly. He’s paralyzed, his heart the only part of him that dares to move, fluttering frantically with panic. A low whining noise fills his ears and he only vaguely realizes that it’s coming from his own throat. 

 

Ichigo turns his gaze away. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and picks up the next crystal. 

 

This one depicts Kisuke, on his knees, blindfolded, hands bound behind him. He's trembling with exhaustion and fear. Aizen has one long hand curled loosely around Kisuke's pale throat. The other holds a heavy leather collar, etched with runes. Kisuke had grown to hate that collar, but at the time of this record, he hadn't yet known to fear it. Aizen fits the collar around his throat, pulling it tight enough to make breathing a challenge, and locks it in place. A deceptively gentle hand winds into his hair, tipping his head back uncomfortably far, and Aizen murmurs, 

 

“Now, didn't you have something to ask me?”

 

Kisuke makes a strangled gasp and rasps, 

 

“Yes, please--”

 

The runes on the collar light up blue and Kisuke cuts off without a sound, convulsing as electricity shoots through him. Aizen makes a disappointed sound and releases his grip on his hair, letting Kisuke collapse bonelessly to the ground. 

 

“For shame. You know very well that's not how you ask for things. Let's try again, shall we?”

 

Kisuke lies there on his side for a moment, struggling for air, and then he drags himself painfully to his knees, folding forward to place his head on the ground at Aizen's feet.

 

Aizen hums his pleasure. 

 

“Much better. Now, what do you need? Speak.”

 

The next crystal is more of the same. And the next, and the next. 

 

They're all of breaking points, of moments when Kisuke had given in and submitted. 

 

Kisuke begs for food, for water, for anything Aizen tells him to. 

 

He's strung up and beaten for amusement. Gifted to favored followers. Chained to the floor, the wall, the table, spread out and put on display. 

 

The final crystal is a tiny clip of Kisuke, bound to a cross, gasping for air around the cruel cleave gag. He's struggling in the traditional dance of the crucified, heaving himself upward for air, only to sink down again as his trembling muscles give out on him. Every inch of his exposed skin is coated in a sheen of sweat. It's undeniably erotic, watching Kisuke writhe, all soft curves contrasted with the cross’ hard lines. 

 

Ichigo can feel the blood rushing south, leaving him simultaneously aroused and horrified. It’s obvious that Kisuke notices, too--the man is already kneeling, but at this, his face goes absolutely white, and he lowers himself to the ground entirely,  _ crawling _ towards the bed where Ichigo sits. 

 

Gods. 

 

Ichigo gathers the crystals up and leaves the room entirely, stepping past where Kisuke has frozen. He barely makes it out into the corridor before he’s spinning to slam his fist into the wall, all the force he can muster driving his hand several inches into  _ rock _ . He’s still hard, too, but the absolute fury that covers his thoughts makes the discomfort utterly negligible. He wants to kill Aizen, wants to  _ tear the man apart _ , and second to that is his horror at his own arousal at the slave’s suffering. 

 

Ichigo knows he has his darkness, same as anyone, and he came to terms with his streak of sadism a long time ago. Equally, however, he swore not to ever take from anyone who was not giving willingly. Kisuke, as much as Ichigo is attracted to him, probably no longer even  _ remembers _ how to give willingly. 

 

He wanders until he can breathe again, mastering himself, and then returns to the suite where his terrified slave is waiting--and gods, isn’t that a phrase that makes Ichigo question everything he’s ever done. He doesn’t think Kisuke has moved much at all; the man has prostrated himself, face down, palms stretched open and upwards in front of him. Ichigo can see the tremors wracking his body from here. He grits his teeth, thinking. He’s not the most emotionally sensitive of people, but he  _ has _ to do something here. 

 

Cautiously, he seats himself on the couch and calls quietly, 

 

“Kisuke. Come here.”

 

The slave  _ crawls _ to him, head lowered, body as close to the ground as he can make it, like an unhappy dog crawling back to its master for a beating. 

 

It’s a worryingly sound analogy, but Ichigo waits until Kisuke is kneeling in front of him and then reaches out, threading his fingers through the silken hair. The man flinches, but Ichigo persists, doing nothing but gently stroking, and eventually he relaxes enough that Ichigo can guide his head down to rest against Ichigo’s thigh. Kisuke nuzzles into him, seeking what little comfort he can, and Ichigo in turn does his best to provide a solid, grounding force. Eventually, the shaking mostly subsides, and the slave shifts to press his forehead into the ground at Ichigo’s feet. 

 

Ichigo hates that he recognizes this as a request to speak, now. 

 

Carefully, he bends down and rests his hand on Kisuke’s head again. 

  
  
“What do you need? Speak.”

 

Kisuke lifts his head--barely raising his eyes to Ichigo’s feet--and then clasps Ichigo’s ankles to beg,

 

“Don’t send me away, master. Please. I know I’m broken, but I can be good for you, I swear. I know… I know I hurt well. Just let me prove it to you. Don’t give me to the guards, I beg of you.”

 

Ichigo wants to take his shoulders, raise him up and draw him into his arms, and after a moment’s consideration he does exactly that. Kisuke huddles into himself, clearly briefly terrified, but he relaxes against Ichigo’s chest as nothing bad continues to happen. 

 

“I’m not going to send you away, Kisuke. You’re… you belong with me, now, and I’ll take care of you, I promise.” 


End file.
